Danielle Foster on Escaping Domestic Violence, Building Resilience, and Empowering Survivors Through Work

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/11/03

Danielle Foster is a domestic violence survivor, entrepreneur, and advocate dedicated to empowering others through financial independence and trauma-informed workplace practices. After surviving years of emotional, psychological, and economic abuse, she rebuilt her life as a single mother and later became a business owner supporting women, veterans, and military spouses. Through her company, Foster creates safe, supportive environments where survivors and families can thrive professionally while healing personally. She also uses social media to raise awareness about domestic violence and encourage open dialogue, helping others recognize warning signs, rebuild confidence, and transition from survival to self-sufficiency and empowerment.

In this interview with Scott Douglas Jacobsen, Danielle Foster recounts her journey from surviving domestic violence to founding a trauma-informed company that helps others regain independence and stability. Foster discusses the emotional and financial dimensions of abuse, the repeated cycle of leaving and returning, and the pivotal moment that led her to safety. She emphasizes the importance of sharing survivor stories, setting workplace boundaries, and promoting mental health. Through honesty and empathy, Foster illustrates how advocacy, financial independence, and supportive environments can transform survivors into empowered individuals who lead others toward healing and resilience.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: I always approach survivor stories with a chronological mindset rather than a snapshot or patchwork one. When you were in that relationship, what was the feeling at the time? What were some of the triggers—because usually it’s not just one thing—that formed the constellation of catalysts for you to decide, “I’m going to take my son, I’m going to leave, and I’m going to rebuild my life.” This ultimately took over 448 consecutive days of work across three jobs. What was the feeling when you realized something was very wrong, leading to those moments that pushed you to get out?

Danielle Foster: As is common for many survivors in a domestic violence situation, it took me six times to leave. I would say that by the fourth time, I really realized this person did not appreciate or love me, and I knew something was wrong. Many people assume physical abuse is the worst harm, but the psychological and emotional abuse often causes the deepest wounds. It puts you into a routine where you feel like the worst person in the world. I don’t know how else to explain it other than that the physical didn’t affect me as much as the psychological and emotional. Financial control is also one of the biggest reasons many domestic violence survivors—or victims at the time—don’t leave, because we don’t feel like we have anywhere to go. You’re scared to go to your family or friends for help.

By the fourth time, I had started pushing my family and friends away. It was the first time I felt that my son wasn’t safe, and I knew that I either had to get out or figure something out. The biggest trigger for me was the fact that—this may sound strange—he would threaten to die by suicide if I left. It was about control. When you have children in an abusive relationship, the abuser can use them against you, and that’s another major fear. The idea that my son could be left with this person and I would have no control—because, unfortunately, no matter what, he was the biological father—was another reason many of us stay.

But the last time, I have to be honest with you, a police officer told me—because law enforcement is often called to DV situations—“This is the 20th time I’ve come to your house. The next time, I’ll be pulling you and your son out in body bags. You have to leave.” That was a massive awakening for me. It came from a stranger, and it scared me. So I left with my son and nothing else. I just went and started over.

Jacobsen: Two points in that restart story stood out. The second was when you said, “This might sound a little weird, but he would threaten to commit suicide.” The first thing that came to mind was coercive control. For readers, can you explain the degree to which an abuser can—though not in every case—go to extraordinary lengths to justify control over you, even to the point of threatening suicide?

Foster: That is 100% true. Think about it—you never want to feel like you’re responsible for someone else’s life in that way. It’s an enormous fear when someone says that to you. You feel trapped and don’t know what to do. That situation, thankfully, didn’t happen, but I think most women have that sensitivity: “Oh my goodness, I’m the one in the wrong.” That’s the entire mindset—being controlled into believing you’re wrong and they’re right. You really have to break out of that mindset, and that’s not an easy thing to do.

Jacobsen: The first part that stood out was the number six rather than one—you noted that the realization came around the fourth time. Why? This is a little different from a roller coaster—though obviously it’s one emotionally. This feels more like recidivism, a term that’s very American. To use it in context, I’d say it applies here because there’s a sense of literally entering and exiting one another’s lives. It has that roller coaster feel, but “recidivism” seems more appropriate because it implies a beginning and an end—like an anthology of chapters you don’t want to keep writing. Why the entering and exiting of one another’s lives over and over again? Why is that the pattern?

Foster: The first time you leave is usually after the first physical altercation. You realize something’s wrong, but then they say, “I’m so sorry,” and you think, “It was just a one-time thing.” You remember the person they were before this happened, and you question how it got to that point. Then things start getting worse. They control the money, leaving you without any finances. They take control of the household. They make you feel as though you’re the one to blame—that everything happening is your fault. The emotional abuse makes you go back and forth because you keep forgiving them, but in reality, you’re the one asking for forgiveness because you’ve been made to believe it’s your fault.

It takes a long time to see it clearly. After the fourth time, I went back again. The fifth time was physical again, and the sixth was very bad. That was when the police officer told me what he had done, and I knew I had to get out. Sometimes it takes an outsider coming in and saying something, but you can’t just tell someone to leave. They’re not in the right mental state. They have to reach that realization on their own. My parents and family didn’t know until the very end. That’s what happens a lot of the time—you hide it because you’re embarrassed and don’t know how to ask for help. You think everything is your fault, and that belief becomes part of the abuse. It’s a cycle you eventually have to break yourself. Some women can’t break it, unfortunately—and some men can’t either. Men are domestic violence survivors too.

Jacobsen: It’s strange how the sense of blame works. In the end, it’s technically a choice to stay, but it’s a coerced choice within a warped context. When they finally do leave, it’s often accompanied by an awakening to how narrow their perception had become—tunnel vision shaped by stress, trauma, and distorted rationales that create what might feel like intimacy but is really an unhealthy illusion. I hesitate even to call it intimacy.

Foster: Yes. For women and men who are stuck in those circumstances—whether they’re being physically abused, emotionally abused, or trapped financially—when they finally get out, the most important thing they need is to hear other people’s stories. They need to know they’re not alone. It’s an incredibly lonely time in your life. Many people don’t recognize the signs until someone else describes them, or a family member, friend, or something they see online makes them realize something’s wrong. Social media can actually help with that—when people see others sharing experiences, they think, “Wait, my relationship isn’t supposed to be like that.”

The signs are always there—it’s just that different people experience different kinds of domestic violence situations. Often, when the physical abuse begins, that’s when people realize that the financial, mental, emotional, and sometimes sexual abuse had been there the entire time. It’s not until they’re physically hurt that they think, “Wait, what’s happening?” Financial control is often the primary reason people don’t leave.

There are so many organizations that help survivors get back on their feet. Many charities assist domestic violence victims by providing shelter, protection, and resources to rebuild their lives. The hardest part is that many survivors don’t know how to leave. They’ve been isolated from family and friends, leaving them feeling completely alone.

Although I wish someone had told me how to do it, I had to figure it out on my own. That’s difficult to explain to people who’ve never been through it, but leaving has to come from within. You have to reach the point where you genuinely want to go—otherwise, you won’t.

I always try to recognize the signs in others and speak up when I see them. People have come to me to talk about their situations. I’m a strong advocate for domestic violence awareness and for creating a culture where it’s okay to talk about it. It’s not an embarrassing situation. The reality is that a significant percentage of people experience some form of abuse. The more we discuss and acknowledge this issue, the more victims will become survivors.

Jacobsen: From your personal recovery to your business model—why focus on empowering women, veterans, and military spouses as your key demographics?

Foster: I was a single mom for five years. In many military families, especially among spouses, women often follow their partner’s career paths rather than their own. I’ve been a military spouse for 14 years—my husband has served that long, and we’ve been married for 13. Upon entering the community, I noticed that many spouses lacked financial independence. It wasn’t necessarily financial abuse, but they didn’t have, as I say, any “skin in the game.” If they ever wanted or needed to leave, they couldn’t afford to.

I told my husband I wanted to help create opportunities—not only for those who might need to leave but also for military spouses and families who struggle financially. Military families often face financial challenges, so I wanted to offer a way for them to earn income or put food on the table. Military spouses have one of the highest unemployment rates due to their frequent relocations. Many pursue degrees and build skills, but when they relocate, they lose job opportunities because their careers can’t move with them. That’s a significant problem.

Veterans also face unique challenges. Many live with PTSD, and as a domestic violence survivor, I experience PTSD as well. For that reason, working in a remote environment can feel safer and more comfortable—whether you’re male or female.

Women tend to gravitate toward our company. It’s not that I wouldn’t hire men—we have one male employee who’s fantastic—but I think people often connect best with those who’ve had similar experiences. That’s true for counselling, too. We’re a sales and operations company, and many women feel comfortable in sales roles, whereas men often prefer the operations side.

We’ve had many women join our team, and we provide a safe, supportive environment free from the triggers often found in other workplaces. It may sound funny, but sometimes our team does cold-call people, and we respect boundaries. If someone doesn’t feel comfortable with a particular client or task, they’re not forced to continue. If someone’s having a bad day or dealing with a difficult situation at home, we understand—because all of us have been there.

Mental health is essential to us, and ensuring the safety of all our employees is a top priority. We’ve created a distinctly unique environment compared to places I’ve worked in before. For example, yelling is a significant trigger for me, so we make sure communication is calm and respectful. We talk about topics carefully and avoid those that might cause distress—some of which I’ve discussed here with you. We maintain an open environment where everyone feels safe to come to us if they need something. We’re always there for them.

Jacobsen: You mentioned being alone. Is isolation among survivors—before they move from identifying as victims to thrivers—an extended period? Is that isolation necessary, or can people find community and recover without it?

Foster: When I left, I went back to my parents’ house. You’re never the same after something like that. I went through much therapy, which I think is essential. It actually took me a year and a half to start treatment after I left, and it’s the best decision I’ve made. I’m still in therapy today because triggers still come up—not daily like before, but occasionally—and I’ve learned how to manage them.

I was probably somewhat isolated, especially with my son. I became very protective of him and didn’t want to leave him with anyone. That isolation initially felt like safety, but it was actually part of the healing process.

Jacobsen: What would make a trauma-informed workplace? Some might see that as over-bureaucratic, while others insist every measure should be implemented because trauma is real. What’s a reasonable foundation for trauma-informed practices that actually work, without feeling artificial or excessive?

Foster: It might sound simple, but having a clear handbook that sets and respects boundaries is key. For example, we avoid discussing breaking news, violence, politics, or religion. In a woman-led environment, that helps reduce triggers. If you’re a military spouse and your husband is deployed overseas, you already hear enough bad news. Hearing about suicides, violence, or tragedies at work can be overwhelming.

By removing those topics, we’ve created a foundation for a safe environment. Of course, there are exceptions—if you’re a journalist, for instance, those conversations are part of the job—but most people whom that kind of work would trigger wouldn’t choose that field.

We also have veterans on our team, and for them, breaking news can be a serious trigger. PTSD is real—whether it stems from domestic violence, combat, or long periods away from family. We make sure our conversations are safe and supportive.

Even though we’re a virtual company, we use Microsoft Teams and Slack like everyone else, so it still feels connected. We maintain an open-door policy: if someone is neurodivergent or has specific sensitivities, they can talk to us so we’re aware and can make adjustments. We can’t control the outside world, but inside the workplace, we can. Some might think that’s extreme, but if you’ve lived through trauma, you understand how essential that awareness is.

Foster: If you’ve lived it, you understand. That can be hard for others to grasp. It doesn’t mean you have to change everything—just the way you talk to someone, or the topics you choose to discuss. That’s part of creating a healthy work environment. I’ve built mine as a safe zone for precisely those reasons—for my employees and for myself.

I also think that if people haven’t been through it, they really don’t understand it. It’s difficult to see what someone is feeling because many survivors hide it well. But we’ve had employees who were able to save money and leave unsafe situations because of the financial independence their jobs provided. They didn’t always tell me what they were going through until later, when they said, “Thank you—this job gave me the ability to leave and save myself and my family.” That means more to me than anything. I try to speak openly about being a survivor so others realize there is a way out. It can be a lonely road, but not a hopeless one.

Jacobsen: People can set boundaries in professional contexts or personal relationships—sometimes both. For instance, someone might share a private detail and ask, “Please don’t post this on social media.” If the abuser violates that trust, the victim feels betrayed and blamed, even though they were clear about their boundaries. That’s a simple example most people can understand.

When someone enforces a boundary—say, they cut another person out of their life professionally or personally—and then feels guilty for doing so, what would you tell them? Especially if it’s the first time they’ve ever advocated for themselves?

Foster: That’s a powerful question. It’s tough to leave, and statistically, it takes a survivor an average of seven or eight attempts before they leave for good. So if someone is talking about it, that’s already a huge step. Saying it out loud is one of the most important milestones—it’s when they stop covering up, whether that’s with makeup, clothing, or silence.

I always tell people it’s crucial to talk to someone. Therapy is excellent if you can afford it, but even if not, find someone you can trust—a friend, coworker, or mentor. That person can help you see the situation more clearly. I’ve had conversations where someone describes their relationship, and I’ll say, “You know that’s not normal, right?” And they’re genuinely surprised—they’ve never thought of it that way.

For example, I’ve had women quit their jobs because their spouse didn’t want them to work anymore. That’s one of the most significant warning signs of abuse—financial control. It’s also, frankly, illogical. You’re turning down income your family could use. When someone’s partner stops them from working, isolates them financially, and limits their independence, that’s financial abuse.

But many don’t see it that way. They’ll say, “No, they love me.” And what can you do? As a business owner, or even as a friend, there’s only so much you can do. That’s one of the most complex parts of being a survivor—watching someone go through it, knowing they have to reach the realization themselves. You can give them every resource, every option, but ultimately, it has to come from them. People think they can save someone, but they can’t. Believe me—I was one of those people no one could save until I was ready.

I had neighbours who weren’t even friends tell me, “This isn’t okay.” And still, I couldn’t accept that until one day, it finally clicked. A light went off, and I knew I had to leave. That’s what it took. If you talk to other survivors, they’ll tell you the same thing—you couldn’t have told them anything. They wouldn’t have listened.

That’s one of the most complex parts of being a survivor. You see others—men and women—going through it, and you recognize the patterns. I’m never quiet about it; I always speak up. I listen to both sides, because sometimes people are just having arguments, and you don’t want to overstep. But when you see repetition, control, isolation—you recognize it. As a survivor, you at least speak up so they know they’re not alone.

But you can’t force anyone out unless there’s physical danger that requires intervention. Even then, calling it in can be scary, because not every report is taken seriously. And when that happens, the victim may end up right back in the same environment, which is terrifying.

Jacobsen: Let’s say someone also wants to start an organization—not necessarily for military families or adult women survivors. It could be for children, men, or even elderly survivors, like in cases of institutional abuse, such as those related to Larry Nassar. For someone who wants to become a professional advocate and build an organization for others, what are your biggest tips?

Foster: I started by building a presence on social media—TikTok, specifically—and talked about my experience openly but respectfully. I have three children, and my oldest is from that previous relationship. I wanted to make sure they all knew it was okay to talk about what happened. That openness is how I built my community and connected with others who felt safe enough to work with us.

To be an effective advocate, you must be prepared to share your story and maintain the right mindset. I’m 15 or 16 years into my healing journey now, and I’m comfortable talking about it. It’s my story, and I choose to share it. I don’t name the person—it’s not worth it. I’ve moved on. I have a wonderful husband, I run my own company, and I help other survivors find financial independence—whether that means having extra income or the means to leave.

Not everyone who works for me is a survivor, but some are. Sometimes I don’t even find out until later. I once had someone who’d worked with me for a year before she opened up after seeing one of my stories. She said, “Can we talk sometime?” and then told me what she’d been through. Sometimes it’s just about being heard—and realizing you’re not alone can change everything.

If people want to be advocates for domestic violence survivors, they have to tell their own stories. That’s how others connect—whether it’s a child, a parent, or anyone else. Sharing your experiences of getting through tough times gives others hope. The first couple of years after leaving are hard, but something beautiful comes out of it. It’s a difficult chapter, but not the whole book. You have to make the choices that get you out and make sure you’re okay first.

Jacobsen: Danielle, thank you very much for sharing your story and for your time today.

Foster: Thank you so much. I hope you have a great weekend—and don’t work too hard.

Jacobsen: Well, that’s not much of a guarantee.

Foster: Thank you so much.

Jacobsen: All right. Bye-bye.

Last updated May 3, 2025. These terms govern all In-Sight Publishing content—past, present, and future—and supersede any prior notices.  In-Sight Publishing by Scott  Douglas  Jacobsen is licensed under a Creative Commons BY‑NC‑ND 4.0; © In-Sight Publishing by Scott  Douglas  Jacobsen 2012–Present. All trademarks, performances, databases & branding are owned by their rights holders; no use without permission. Unauthorized copying, modification, framing or public communication is prohibited. External links are not endorsed. Cookies & tracking require consent, and data processing complies with PIPEDA & GDPR; no data from children < 13 (COPPA). Content meets WCAG 2.1 AA under the Accessible Canada Act & is preserved in open archival formats with backups. Excerpts & links require full credit & hyperlink; limited quoting under fair-dealing & fair-use. All content is informational; no liability for errors or omissions: Feedback welcome, and verified errors corrected promptly. For permissions or DMCA notices, email: scott.jacobsen2025@gmail.com. Site use is governed by BC laws; content is “as‑is,” liability limited, users indemnify us; moral, performers’ & database sui generis rights reserved.